Why Resist a Rebel - By Leah Ashton Page 0,25

she replied, surprising him. She looked out towards the opera house, her forehead wrinkling slightly. ‘I mean, of course being courteous and honourable or gallant—or whatever a chivalrous man is supposed to be—is important.’ She gave him a look that underlined the fact she clearly considered him to be none of those things. ‘But it has to be genuine. Standing up when I approach the table, for example—’ her words were razor sharp ‘—is meaningless. It has to mean something—have a basis in respect—otherwise I’d really rather you didn’t bother.’

‘I respect you,’ he said.

She laughed with not a trace of pretention. ‘I find that very hard to believe.’

‘It’s the truth,’ he said. He wasn’t going to bother explaining himself, but then somehow found himself doing so anyway. ‘I was late because I like seeing you react, not because I don’t value you and your time. I apologise if you feel that way.’

‘I’m sure you agree that distinction is impossible to make from my point of view.’

Dev almost, almost, felt bad about it—but not quite. He was enjoying this—enjoying her—too much.

‘You like pushing my buttons,’ she said. ‘You’re very good at it.’

He shrugged, studying her. ‘So is that what you’re looking for? An honourable, perfectly chivalrous specimen of a man?’

Dev knew he was not that man.

Immediately, she shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. I’m looking for no man at all.’

‘You’re focusing on your career?’

Almost silently the maître d’ reappeared and filled her wine glass.

‘Yes, but that’s not the reason. I don’t need a man. At all.’

‘Need, or want?’

She rolled her eyes dismissively. ‘Neither.’

He considered this unexpected announcement as their entrées arrived, but he wasn’t about to question her further. Tonight was not for detailed analysis of their respective relationship goals.

For the record, his was—and had always been—to have no relationship at all. Estelle had been an unexpected exception, a relationship that had evolved, at times—it seemed—almost without his participation. Yes, he’d liked her. Enjoyed his time with her. Maybe considered the idea that he loved her.

But that night she’d left, she’d made it crystal clear that what he felt wasn’t love. How had she put it?

Love is when you share yourself—reveal yourself. Your thoughts, your feelings, your fears. Something. Everything! Not nothing. Not absolutely nothing.

At the time he hadn’t questioned her. But later, when he’d asked himself that question—if that was what he’d done, and who he was—he couldn’t disagree.

They ate their salmon for a while in silence, their knives scraping loudly on the fine bone china.

‘Is this really what you wanted?’ she asked. She was still focused on her meal, her eyes on her plate, not on him.

She meant this date, this time alone with her.

‘Yes.’

Now she glanced up. The harder edge to her gaze from before was gone; now she just looked confused. ‘Seriously? Why on earth would you want to spend an evening with a woman who doesn’t particularly like you?’

‘I thought you said you didn’t know me well enough to dislike me.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ve begun to revise that opinion.’

He smiled. Maybe something resembling his famous Dev Cooper smile, as he didn’t miss the way her cheeks went pink, or how eager she was to look away.

‘You like me.’

Instantly, she met his gaze. ‘Here we go again. It’s getting tedious. Why on earth should I like you?’

‘I’m charming,’ he said.

She snorted. ‘What exactly is your definition of the word? Blackmailing a woman into dating you? Really?’

‘No. I must admit this is not my standard dating procedure.’

‘For the sake of the thousands of women you’ve ever dated, I’m relieved to hear that.’

‘Not thousands,’ he said.

She waved her wine glass in a gesture of dismissal. ‘Hundreds, then.’

No, not that many either. In hindsight, maybe Estelle was not the first to observe his relationship failings. Or, more likely, she was the only one he’d allowed close enough to notice.

A mistake, clearly.

‘I’m not—’ he began, then stopped.

I’m not myself at the moment.

No, there was no need to say that to Ruby. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? For Ruby to be his distraction?

‘You’re not what?’ she asked.

He gave a little shake of his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we’re here now.’ He leant back in his chair a little, studying her. ‘We’re here, in this amazing city, at this amazing restaurant. And you, Ruby Bell, are wearing one amazing dress.’

The pink to her cheeks escalated to a blush, but otherwise she gave no indication of being affected by his words.

‘Thank you,’ she said, just a little